


So She Dances

by arrow_through_my_writers_block



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Dreams and Nightmares, Dreams vs. Reality, F/M, Ficlet, Hallucinogens, Heartbreaking, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Olicity Ficlet, One Shot, Romance, Short One Shot, Unrequited Love, olicity - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 18:13:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4886773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arrow_through_my_writers_block/pseuds/arrow_through_my_writers_block
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 3 fic: Oliver Queen has turned into Al Sah-him, successfully infiltrating the League of Assassins. But as he remains in their world, their mind-altering drugs begin to take away what he holds dear, leading to a dream of a familiar blonde whose name he can't seem to remember.</p><p>*inspired by the song So She Dances by Josh Groban*</p>
            </blockquote>





	So She Dances

**Author's Note:**

> This story isn't really anything important. Just something random I came up with filled with angst and romance and masque balls. Enjoy.

[Song Inspiration](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HTe4SSFyuiw)

[Felicity's Outfit](http://www.polyvore.com/so_she_dances/set?id=177824350)

* * *

 

The training was hard. Just as Oliver had expected it would be. Constant sparring and lecturing and dosing of drugs to stifle his personality, memories and desires. It was wearing him down, crushing him. When he came back to his room he simply collapsed onto the sheets. The sheets that still wore Felicity’s scent. He savored it, letting it ground him in his reality and the truth. He had done this to settle a debt, to save his sister and to protect those he loved. And now he knew there was more at stake, but he had to win trust.

But slowly, her scent disappeared. It trailed away with the cluster of flames next to the bed. Their night together soon seemed so far away… a distant memory as the drugs clouded his mind. And soon her face was there, but a name wasn’t attached. She was unknown. She was a stranger.

The training became his life, trickling into every fiber of his being until it lived within his body like a controlling demon. And he enjoyed it. Even when he was tested with a familiar face tacked onto a stranger by the League’s famed hallucinogens, he enjoyed the kill. It meant success. It meant full infiltration. It meant he had gained trust. It meant he was Al Sah-him.

But as he collapsed onto the bed, he sensed a hollowness in his chest and a dull ache in his heart. He disrobed and sank between the sheets, his eyes fluttering closed before his head even hit the pillow, luring him into dreams...

_The ballroom is twinkling with candlelight and the strings of frosted lights dangling from the ceiling. His eyes adjust to the dimness, allowing him to take in the crowd of laughing masked guests, all too rich for their own good. Much like himself._

_He watches everyone from the edges of the room, remaining on the outskirts to avoid meaningless conversations about potential investors, profit margins and workplace gossip. The event is meant as a time for giving -a time to focus on charity- but no one cares much for the causes represented. He feels guilty for mingling with selfishness, but it is unavoidable. It is part of the job description._

_As he shoots back a full flute of champagne, he glimpses a masked angel near a candelabra. The flickering flames dance and cast her sparkling gown in frolicking illumination. A light within the darkness. And in that moment, he deems her his own personal light._

_Her lips are painted a vibrant crimson, framed by her black and gold mask and her blonde curls, loose and flowing to her shoulders. From this distance he can’t make out the color of her eyes, but he imagines them to be luxurious blue mixed with green, reflecting the flickering light within their depths. He is not the only one admiring her. Most watch her from afar. Others brave uncertainty and go to her, hoping for successful introductions and easy conversations. Some fail miserably. Others are received with warm smiles and returned chattiness._

_He watches her as she accepts offers for a dance, going through one waltz after another, the songs bleeding together and each masculine face seeming the same. He is jealous. He is impatient. He is afraid._

_Afraid of rejection and those lovely lips laughing in his face. He straightens his mask and keeps watching, his attention sporadically interrupted by irritating investors and partners seeking his opinions on numbers and pending contracts. But he only vaguely listens. She floats in and out of the crowd, disappearing then reappearing within glances between guests. He makes it his goal never to lose sight of her._

_She remains at the side of one man, tall and dark-haired. He is jealous of this man, for he has her devotion and the privilege of gazing directly into her eyes. He knows their color. He knows the sound of her voice._

_He watches them dance, song after song, arms wrapped protectively around one another. He feels his feet moving toward them, as if of their own accord. He hates to dance. That is part of the reason he spent the evening watching from a distance. But his interest in her, his intense curiosity, moves him onward, through the crowd and out onto the dance floor._

_He comes to a halt beside them and sticks out a hand, hoping neither of them can see it trembling. “May I cut in?” he asks the other man._

_“Oh, Mr. Queen,” the man says, surprised, then steps backward to give him space. “Uh, of course.”_

_The woman glares at her dancing partner before casting her eyes to Oliver. Her eyes are blue. He hold out his hand to her and she takes it reluctantly. Everything else falls away as he pulls her close, feeling her warmth. Her perfume wafts over him, a mixture of floral scents and sweet vanilla. And she watches him. He can sense a brow raised beneath her intricate mask._

_They stay silent, simply staring. First he senses annoyance in her eyes, but with each sway and twirl he catches the annoyance wavering, slipping into curiosity. Her hand moves within his, her fingers lacing with his. He smiles at this, aware of the intimacy of the action. She moves closer, her forehead resting against his chin. He suppresses the urge to kiss her there. So close. So forbidden. He keeps his lips to himself._

_The connection is clear. The tension is palpable. The chemistry is real._

_But it is all cut short as a hand taps his shoulder. The dark-haired man reveals the song to be over and their dance is done. Oliver hesitates for a moment before letting her go, his fingertips slowly losing contact with hers. As she walks away, he calls to her. “What is your name?”_

_She turns gracefully, curls swirling like waves around her shoulders. “Smoak. Felicity Smoak.”_

The dream ended abruptly, his heart pounding and his eyes already filled with hot, stinging tears. He sat up in bed, covering his face in his hands before rocking back and forth. The dull ache in his heart was different. Searing. Raging. It scratched against the walls of his chest, begging for relief. And the hollowness seemed deeper, almost cavernous, engulfing him with a blackness he had never known.

The name he had forgotten, connected to the face he could never lose memory of. Everything rushed back to him, pummeling him and damaging his shaky stoicism.

_Felicity Smoak._

His Felicity. The source of his emptiness and heartache. The reason he could never remain Al Sah-him. The reason he would never truly be Al Sah-him.

**Author's Note:**

> What did you think? 
> 
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> Twitter: @miss_writer


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